


Per ardua ad astra

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Ultimates, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Roman Britain, Secret Relationship, Symbolism, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonius is the first-born son of a Roman senator. His father ruled with an iron fist. </p><p>For Antonius, the best day of his life is the day he meets Stephanos, a slave born in Roman-occupied Britain, who would, one day, become the best gladiator of his age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarialdarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarialdarion/gifts), [roachalk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachalk/gifts).



> 'Through difficulties to the stars' is the English translation of the Latin title.
> 
> This work is inspired by, but by no means an AU of, The Song of Achilles.
> 
> UPDATE: Essentially, this is Ults Tony and 616 Steve but with a backstory that's more closely aligned with 616 SteveTony. You don't need comics knowledge to read this, but there are little nods.

_It was written in the stars and who was I to question the gods? Had I been a pious man, I could've sought the council of an oracle or perhaps, pleaded with the gods, sacrificed myself, traded my soul, anything... Anything that would've assured that he'd never, ever leave me here, on this earth, on my own. Perhaps, I could've changed things but I'm no god. I'm just a mortal and he was destined for greater and grander things. I should count myself lucky that he had ever loved me at all. I should count myself lucky: it was written in the stars._

 

“Tell me about her.”

We were lying on the beach. It was well past noon. The cool water gently caressed our toes as it hit the shore. It was late summer, my favorite time of year. I was lying with my arms tucked under my head, relishing in the summer sun. It was particularly warm that day. He was leaning on his elbow, his torso twisted so that he faced me. I hadn’t meant to stare but if Apollo didn’t want me to look, he shouldn’t have illuminated his chest, the swell of his lips, his flushed cheeks, and the golden ringlets that framed his face. His golden skin glistened with sweat, and, in that moment, he sparkled. I should’ve known then. I should’ve known I was damned. I would never find anyone as beautiful as I did him.

I sat up. The sand fell from my head and off my back. He laughed as he brushed the sand out of my hair and off my shoulders. The little that remained didn’t bother me. Nothing bothered me in his presence. I turned to him and pushed his hair from his eyes so that I could see them better. They were the color of the sea. I drank them in. Neptune must’ve blessed him at birth with eyes as clear as the waters in which we swam. The Tyrrhenian was at its warmest at this time of year.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything you’re willing to tell me, Antonius. I want to hear it all.”

He sat up as he spoke. He moved so gracefully. I almost didn’t realize what he was doing until his nose touched mine, ever so lightly. I stared into his eyes and he into mine. He brushed the sand from my cheeks and I shuddered at his touch.

He smelled divine. Underneath the salt was a scent that was all him; his essence. I was so close to him, I could feel the heat emanating from his body. If he was the sun, I was a chariot gladly waiting to be devoured and devour me he did.

_Could I have known I was Icarus? Would I have cared? I had built wings that could fly._

_What more could I have wanted? Oh, if only I had known, but I was young then and so was he._

He cupped my cheek with one hand, turning my head to the side. His other palm raced up my thigh, settling on my hip, griping it tight. He washed away all my other thoughts, leaving only him. He was the only thing I could feel. The only thing I could see. The only thing I could sense and it was everything I had ever wanted it to be. He had never kissed me before but I had always wanted it, and now I knew: so had he. I had dreamt of this moment both awake and asleep. Very rarely is life better than one’s dreams.

He pushed me back onto the sand. It was effortless, as were most things he did. I felt him on top of me: the warmth of his body, the smoothness of his skin, the strength of his muscles. He kissed me with such ferocity and I returned the fervor. This had never occurred before but it couldn’t have been anything but the Fates.

_Did he know how long I had thought of this?_

_Could he feel my heart skip beats?_

I could taste the salt of the sea; I could smell it. I could taste him. It was better than even the best wine, the best cheese. If I could’ve been a parasite, I would’ve lived off him, leaching off his warmth, for as long as he would let me. For as long as he would let me, I would be his.

He pulled away and I could feel the air seeping into the pores of my skin where, just moments ago, he had been. I was left dizzy: my blood elsewhere. My heart beat rapidly, erratically. I was left panting and I was glad to note, so was he.

“Well?” He waited patiently. He was always patient with me. I smiled, reaching for his fingers, wedged in the sand, and held them in mine. Perhaps I should’ve said it then but instead, I squeezed his hand hoping he would understand all the things I felt and all the words I lacked.

I paused for a moment thinking of where we had left off, of the question he had asked. “They said she was beautiful. They said her long waves danced when she moved like the leaves of a tree. They said her eyes were the bluest of blues and that I was lucky to have them. They said she was kind, wiser than she ought to be. Like the Sirens, her voice brought men to their knees. It brought my father to his.” He smiled mischievously when I said it. I always liked that smile of his, the slight smirk of his lips, the way his eyes crinkled.

The sun would soon dip below the horizon. We would soon leave and return to our home. Somedays, I would wish we were back on that beach. _Could I have known?_

“She was younger than he, as is our custom. I don’t remember her, though sometimes, I hear her voice. I can’t tell you how I know it’s her but it must be her spirit speaking to me, counseling me, taking refuge in a host.”

“When do you hear her?” He asked his voice just above a whisper.

I looked at him intently. I had kept my silence but he had promised he’d listen. “When… when I’m happy. When I sing, I feel her presence. When I walk along the beach and the waves dance along my feet.”

I paused. He had moved closer while I spoke. I could hear his slow breaths as he waited for me to say something, anything. “Most often, I can feel her when you look at me.” His breath caught and I feared I had said too much. I feared I had ruined what we had.

“Antonius…”

“She was the only person to love me.” I turned away and started to stand. Before I had found my footing, he was at my side, faster than lightning. “Antonius, that’s not true.” I stared at him in confusion as he wrapped his arms around my waist and nestled into my neck. “I thought… I thought I had made it clear.” He looked into my eyes. I had tried to hide my tears, but he brushed them away. “I have always loved you. You… you gave me a home.”


	2. Chapter 2

Maria, 'of the sea.'

Her blue eyes were the color of the Tyrrhenian in winter. Her long, soft waves fell around her delicate face. They were the color of obsidian. In the sun, traces of gold were visible. Vulcan seemed to have a hand in her birth, or so the rumor went. When she smiled, the world was set aflame. When she danced, the grass beneath her swayed. It was rumored that Venus had blessed her birth, for only a goddess would bestow such gifts.

She was born in a town near the Tyrrhenian coast – Herculaneum – and on that fateful day near the  _Kalendas Septembres_ , she was away visiting her dying mother. My father had granted her request to return home upon hearing the news. My mother was beside herself, or so I'm told, and thus, he let her go. It wasn't custom for a woman to return to her family, even in death. She belonged to her husband. However, my father, in those days, was kind. He couldn't bear to see his wife suffer.

My mother never returned from her trip. She, and all the others, was buried in the ash. No sacrifice would bring her back. There was no pleading with the gods. Everything about my young life changed thereafter. She was the light of his life, without her there was only darkness. Without her calming presence, without her soft words, without her laughter, without her touch, my father became a cold man:  _virilis ferrum_. Iron man. It was his mantra. Repeatedly, he told me, "My father and his father before him were made of iron, and by virtue of being my son, so are you."

Sometimes, I wonder what he would think of the man I became.  _Would I have been worthy of the title? Would he have been proud?_

In the years after my mother died, there was never enough wine to quench my father's thirst, and with the wine came a world of hurt, but I was young then. I didn't know any better. I thought it was the only way.

Although many thought he should find himself another wife, my father wouldn't hear of it. Often I was told I resembled her. It brought me some kind of solace to know. I like to think all my best qualities came from her. But my father didn't feel that way. The memory of my mother haunted him, and so, whenever he looked into my eyes, all he saw was her, and it was too much to bear. I wasn't worthy. The Fates had taken his one true love and had left me in her stead and for that, he could never forgive them, and in turn, could never forgive me.  
  
Perhaps that's why – I tell myself to soothe the pain – he never seemed to love me. He had loved her and she was gone, taken much too soon. Perhaps he thought it wasn't worth to love again if there would only be pain in the horizon. _If only I had learned that lesson, but I couldn't have known._

The Coliseum opened the following year. My father attended the inaugural games. We went every year thereafter. He was a senator; it was expected. I don't know what drew me to them. Perhaps it was the cheering crowds, or the look of triumph on the faces of the victors.  
  
It was early summer, not long after my tenth birthday, that I met Stephanos. I wouldn't know it then, but it was the best day of my life. I wonder if there's a reason for that; if the Fates had decided it was so.  _Was it destined?_

He was older than he looked. His small, frail form concealed his true nature. His mother, herself a widow, had sold him into slavery. She was desperate and London was far from Rome. They promised her he'd have a better life. My father didn't care for children but he saw something in Stephanos, something, perhaps, he didn't see in me.

His golden hair was like the early morning sun, rising above the trees. His beautiful eyes were pools. I could imagine the nymphs playing in those waters. He was beautiful. Perhaps I knew it then. Perhaps I had always known.

We had since returned to the house after our day at the beach. I could still taste him, even after having dinner. His phantom lips brushed against mine. I would never forget how that felt. I would never forget that moment. The whole way home, up the hill, through the trees, we spoke about my mother. I told him everything I had ever known about her. He listened, patiently.  
  
It was dark now and we were alone. It occurred to me then that I had never asked about his mother, about his homeland. I didn't even know his name before he came into my home. "Senecio." It sounded foreign coming from his lips. I didn't know what I had expected. It was a Roman name but unknown to me. He too was named after his father. Perhaps that was our curse.  
  
"I like Stephanos," I admitted, rather bashfully. He chuckled knowingly, "That I knew."  
  
“That obvious?" I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. Stephanos couldn't read but if he could, I would've been the book he read most.

"Only to me," he responded earnestly. Even after years of knowing him, it still struck me just how honest he was.

"And why is that," I teased, but I knew the answer. The crinkle in his eye had returned; I loved it so. "Because you can't lie to me." I had never had a reason. _I couldn't have known._  
  
I can't say how long we sat in each other's company reminiscing about the past. I can't say what possessed me to tell him to stay. The slaves' quarters were on the opposite side of the house but I wanted him near me. Now that I knew how he felt, I couldn't bear to let him go. Perhaps that was my flaw: I knew he was too good to be true. His presence illuminated everything in my life.  
  
Before his arrival, I had never known happiness. My father was as distant, or as distant as he could be while still being near. To him, my mother's death signaled mine. However, Stephanos cared for me from the moment we met. His kindness soon developed into friendship. We were inseparable. I would follow him into battle. I would follow him into the underworld.

_If I were Icarus, I'd follow him into the sun._

That night, he slept with me. He caressed my cheeks and told me all the things he loved about me as the moon rose high in the sky. I slept in his embrace, his palm on my waist. I could smell him on me and I never wanted to bathe. I don't know how we weren't caught but that was the beginning.

He awoke at dawn, as was his custom. The slaves had their duties in the early morning hours. He left so he wouldn't raise suspicion. He kissed me good morning just before walking out the door and I could swear he glowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mount Vesuvius, on Italy's Tyrrhenian coast, erupted on 24 August 79 A.D. burying Pompeii and its sister city, Herculaneum, named after the fabled Greek hero, in pyroclastic ash.
> 
> Herculaneum was the wealthier of the two cities and being that Maria was born into wealth and married wealthy, it was only fitting she died there instead.
> 
> I wanted Tony to grow up without a mother, as he does in Ults, but in general, 616 is my reference point.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments are welcome. This is still a WIP.
> 
> You can follow me on [Tumblr](http://lavengadoraaa.tumblr.com).


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